


this fire's a weapon

by blackkat



Series: Superhero!AU [6]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Human Disaster Uchiha Shisui, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rough Oral Sex, Strength Kink, Wall Sex, he's this 'verse's answer to clint barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 06:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The sudden burst of light isawful, and it wrenches Shisui right out of unconsciousness. With a yelp, he flings his hand up to cover his eyes, and hisses, “Assault! Oh my god, make it go away.”There’s a long, judgey pause, and then a snort. “You know,” a voice says, perfectly dry, “This is the third dumpster I’ve found you in this month.”





	this fire's a weapon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squiggly_lines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squiggly_lines/gifts).

The sudden burst of light is _awful_, and it wrenches Shisui right out of unconsciousness. With a yelp, he flings his hand up to cover his eyes, and hisses, “_Assault_! Oh my god, make it go away.”

There’s a long, judgey pause, and then a snort. “You know,” a voice says, perfectly dry, “This is the third dumpster I’ve found you in this month.”

Shisui stubbornly doesn’t move. Doesn’t open his eyes, either, though he can hear the incredibly impolite laughter coming from a short distance away. “You always catch me on bad days,” he says, and then cracks one eye open just enough to see the face staring judgmentally down at him. It’s a nice face, even if the lack of eyebrows is kind of funny. “In fact, you see me on bad days _so much_ that I’m starting to think it’s a conspiracy—”

“You seem to have a lot more bad days than most people,” Zabuza says, and grabs Shisui by the collar of his costume. “Anything broken?”

“What?” Shisui yelps, and swats at his hand. “Are you _attacking_ me? I was sleeping peacefully and now you’re attacking me, how are you a hero—”

Zabuza rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a no,” he says, and hauls Shisui out of the dumpster with a heave and a grunt of effort. Shisui flails the whole way down, entirely displeased by the light and the noise and the sudden, stark reminder that he didn’t come out of his fight with Itachi untouched. Every bruise starts to throb at once, and even though Zabuza doesn’t quite drop him to the ground, he still hisses when he makes contact, legs folding under him as he slumps to the concrete.

“Oh _god_,” he groans, and tips his head back against the metal of the dumpster. “Why are you so _mean_?”

“Mercenary,” Zabuza reminds him, and crouches down, tilting his head. The bandages wrapped around the bottom of his face don’t leave much obvious, but Shisui is pretty sure he’s frowning. “You climb into that thing, or did you piss off whoever you were fighting enough that they stuffed you in there?”

Zabuza’s little menace of a sidekick leans around him, surveying Shisui, and raises a hand to hide his smile, like Shisui couldn’t just hear him giggling. “You’re lucky it’s not trash day,” he agrees.

“That’s Thursday,” Shisui says with confidence, and gives Zabuza his most charming smile through the exhaustion. “How about we—”

“Do you have the trash schedule memorized for the whole city?” Zabuza asks, incredulous. He exchanges looks with Haku, which, _rude_.

“Only my neighborhoods,” Shisui says indignantly. “And for the record, sanitation is a very dangerous job and without it the city would be in shambles, so there’s nothing wrong with respecting the men and women who serve us that way. _Or_ their work schedules.”

“You’re a fucking disaster,” Zabuza concludes, and hauls Shisui up, pulling his arm over his shoulders. Nice shoulders. _Very_ broad, beautifully muscular, with biceps the size of Shisui’s _head_. “Come on. Haku, grab his sword.”

“Yes, Zabuza,” Haku says sweetly, and it’s a complete lie. The only person he’s that nice to _ever_ is Zabuza. Shisui’s seen him stab a man and keep that smile perfectly in place.

“I have a first aid kit stashed under the bridge in the park,” Shisui says, though the world is already going fuzzy around the edges and he’s not sure which way is east. The park is definitely east. Or maybe southwest. “Just drop me off there and I can—”

“Shut up,” Zabuza says, unimpressed, and Haku smothers another giggle. “People who sleep in dumpsters don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You’re so _rude_,” Shisui complains.

“_Mercenary_,” Zabuza says again, and starts moving, and at that point Shisui maybe sort of passes out.

It’s possible he hasn’t eaten anything in the past forty-eight hours, but he’s not about to _say_ that. Haku will laugh at him again.

Shisui wakes up in a bed not his own, which is immediately identifiable due to the lack of crumbs. It’s mildly alarming, mostly because the sheets are obscenely soft and the ceiling above Shisui is clean of any cobwebs or spots. It’s immaculate, really, and Shisui stares up at it in bewilderment, wondering who the hell has a clean _ceiling._

Then it sinks in that he’s very definitely not sleeping in a dumpster anymore, and he sits up with a jerk as something like panic surges. Someone’s very definitely given him a sponge bath, and cleaned his uniform, too, and if it’s not a friend—

“Oh, hey, you're awake,” a familiar voice says, and Shisui turns sharply towards the open door. Towards the open _wall_: it only stretches three quarters of the way to the ceiling, and there are masses of potted plants filling the gap. The door itself is a heavy curtain that’s been tied up on one side, and through the gap Shisui can see a wide open room, a curving counter, and a familiar man in front of the stove.

The fact that it doesn’t smell like smoke and burned food probably shouldn’t be the most surprising part of this.

“Am I?” Shisui jokes, but there's a part of him that means it. Generally _he’s_ the one getting people trapped in illusions, but this is more than a little surreal. Carefully, he swings his legs off the bed, casting a glance around, and—the details all work out. There’s no hint that someone got into his brain, no familiar bits in the middle of the unfamiliar that would mean his brain is filling in the gaps. The only things he recognizes are Zabuza’s sword and Haku's mask, and they're not where he might have expected them to be if he’d thought about it.

The ache of standing brings Shisui's attention back to the very unfair way his little cousin smashed him into the pavement this morning, and he grimaces, steadying himself on the wall. It’s _stupid_, because they're both technically on the side of good, but Itachi's methods are a lot more extreme than Shisui can stomach, and Itachi is all caught up in his own head and the belief that he’s taking the only correct path, and Shisui is more than willing to punch him out of it. Sometimes it works, but—

Clearly, this morning did _not_ work. Shisui's going to have to keep an eye on that move Itachi pulled, because wow, that smarts. Watching Sharingan’s fights obsessively as kids definitely never taught him that. Though maybe watching Tempest’s did—that seems like the sort of brutal, underhanded thing Tempest would go for.

“Ugh,” he mutters, hobbling across the room, and trying not to feel even more goblin-like than usual in the middle of so much open air and light and bright spaces. “I think I'm getting too old for this.”

In the kitchen, Zabuza snorts. “You and me both,” he says dryly, but his eyes are on the omelets he’s making, and he waves a hand at a sleek silver coffee pot beside the fridge. “Coffee if you want it. Mugs are right above it.”

“Bless,” Shisui says fervently, and grabs for one without care for politeness, even though it’s probably making Mikoto roll over in her non-grave somewhere. In her bed with that one hero-princess she’s shacked up with, maybe. well. Kind of shacked up—Shisui supposes that after like twenty years it’s probably more marriage than shacking up. By now.

The first swallow of coffee feels like a kick, though, and Shisui drains the cup gratefully, pours another, and hobbles over to one of the stools on the other side of the island counter. Takes another look around, and—

Still bewildering.

“You know,” he says pointedly, watching Zabuza turn an omelet out onto one of the—matching!—plates in front of him, “if you’d made me guess twenty minutes ago where you lived, I’d probably have said an abandoned warehouse somewhere on the river. Not a loft in a nice neighborhood.”

Zabuza rolls his eyes, then turns and pointedly drops the plate in front of Shisui. “Haku picked it,” he says, and when Shisui eyes him, disbelieving, he scowls. “Fuck off, I did a favor for the landlord and he gave it to me for cheap. I wasn’t about to say no.”

Shisui wonders privately which came first, Haku liking the apartment or the favor, but he’s not about to say that. Cuts into the omelet, instead, and takes a bite, and then promptly has to try and get as much in his mouth as he can physically manage without choking to death.

With a snort, Zabuza leans forward, bracing his folded arms on the edge of the counter. It makes the muscles in them _far_ too clear for Shisui's peace of mind, and he almost suffocates on a piece of mushroom as he swallows.

Thankfully, if Zabuza notices, he shows no sign. “You fought a villain on an empty stomach?” he asks. “Thought they taught you better than that in preschool.”

“I don’t know what kind of preschool _you_ went to, but in mine it was mostly how to play with blocks, and how to recognize colors. And besides, Itachi isn't a villain,” Shisui retorts, and practically vacuums up the last few bites. He’d feel shame, but he’s pretty sure he lost his shame in a dumpster early on in his hero career and hasn’t been able to find it since.

Zabuza pulls a face. “Kid, if _I_ think someone’s got screwy morals, something’s gone fucking wrong,” he says dryly, and pushes upright, nodding at Shisui's plate. “Another?”

“I don’t care if you're a mercenary, you're _my_ hero,” Shisui agrees fervently, and hands his plate back. “Where’s your sidekick?”

“Apprentice.” Zabuza doesn’t look up from the eggs he’s cracking. “And it’s a school day.”

Shisui pauses, brain trying to fit together the idea of Zabuza’s stab-happy tagalong and _public school_. Though, of course, it’s always possible Zabuza _did a favor_ for whatever private academy he deigned to find acceptable for his kid.

“So what’s the casualty count for that?” he asks, morbidly fascinated.

The look Zabuza shoots him is pissy. “Haku knows how to stay under the radar,” he snaps, but the bitchiness is sort of undercut by the way he pours Shisui's omelet into the pan, clearly still willing to feed him.

“Sure,” Shisui agrees blithely. “And the first time someone tried to make fun of him, he totally let that slide and didn’t retaliate.”

“I said _under the radar_, not that he’s a pushover,” Zabuza says, and tosses a handful of cheese and fillings into the pan. Shisui eyes the line of his back, criminally hidden under a loose black tank top, and has to consciously refrain from licking his lips. Zabuza has been torturing him with various states of undress all the time they’ve been running in overlapping circles, but somehow, Zabuza wearing just leather straps across his bare chest is less appealing than Zabuza barefoot and at ease, cooking in his own home.

Very firmly, Shisui checks himself, sneaks one last glance at Zabuza’s ass in his worn-soft jeans, and drags his gaze back up above the belt.

“So it’s an _indirect_ casualty count,” he clarifies, and Zabuza twitches, wrenches around to glare at him.

“Haku has just as much right to defend himself as anyone,” he growls. “And if you think I'm going to let your little hero organization target him just because—”

“Woah, woah!” Shisui throws his hands up, not quite reeling back in his seat even if it’s close. “I was _joking_, that was a joke, Haku dealing with bullies and idiots isn't my job and I don’t care, okay? I'm not going to report him or anything, he’s your _kid_.”

There's a moment of careful silence, assessing. Zabuza stares at him narrowly for a long moment, then breathes out, and deliberately shifts the omelet off the heat. “You’re not,” he says suspiciously, but not like he doesn’t believe Shisui.

Swallowing, Shisui meets his eyes, shrugs. “It’s not like I don’t understand wanting to keep your family safe,” he says. “Just because mine needs a few good whacks in the head doesn’t mean I don’t get it.”

Carefully, Zabuza breathes out, then jerks his head in a short nod. Leans forward across the counter, and all the breath evacuates Shisui's lungs in a rush as he freezes. Zabuza’s gaze is sharp, and his brown eyes are narrow, but the set of his mouth isn't aggressive even as he closes a hand in Shisui's uniform.

“You,” he says bitingly, “are a _fucking idiot_.”

“What?” Shisui squawks. “Okay, first of all, _rude_, I am a genius—”

Zabuza kisses him, and it’s like an attack, teeth and tongue and _oh god oh god oh god_ as panic surges. Shisui spends about three seconds trying to figure out what the hell is happening before instinct boots his brain to the side and takes over to kiss Zabuza back, and that’s—that’s good because Zabuza’s mouth is hot and a little sweet and he kisses like it’s the only thing he wants to do ever again. Single-minded and intent and _hot_, god, Shisui might never recover from that soft little sound he makes, or the way his lashes flutter when Shisui scrapes teeth over his lip.

Not able to take it, Shisui drags their faces apart, wondering a little dazedly when his hand got into Zabuza’s hair, and tries _really_ hard not to pay attention to the rough sound that gets caught in Zabuza’s throat when Shisui's fingers tighten on black strands. Curses himself, focuses, and breathes, “What the hell?”

For a moment, Zabuza’s face twists. He pauses, then lets out a breath and says sharply, “Fuck you, let me go if you didn’t want it—”

“I kissed you back!” Shisui protests. “If I didn’t want you to kiss me I could have stopped you or turned your brain to jelly or thrown you out a window—”

He breaks off, because Zabuza’s breath just hitched in a very noticeable way. For a moment, Shisui can't even close his mouth, just stares, and then very deliberately lets go. “That does it for you?” he asks, somewhere between bewildered and suddenly, _massively_ turned on. Because he knows _himself_, and if Zabuza had threatened to pick him up that _definitely_ would have been his reaction, but—

Zabuza’s pretty mouth flattens into a thin, dangerous line, and the look he gives Shisui would probably be enough to kill someone who wasn’t currently trying not to have an entirely inappropriate reaction to a dangerous mercenary looking like he’s about to take a swing at him. “Shithead, I had to watch you take on _Kisame_ the other day,” he growls, belligerent. “And you fucking _survived_. If you don’t want me to suck your damn brains out of your cock, tell me right fucking now.”

Heat _bolts_ through Shisui's veins, and it’s possible he whimpers. He takes a very careful breath, closes his eyes, and says desperately, “Why would you just _say that_, oh my god, now I have to look at you and eat breakfast and that is _not fair_—”

There's a startled pause, and then Zabuza laughs. He steps around the edge of the counter, grabbing Shisui's wrist, and hauls him out of the chair and to his feet. “And here I thought you were going to punch me in the mouth,” he says, grinning, and those sharp teeth probably shouldn’t be anywhere _near_ as hot as Shisui's finding them.

“It’s such a nice mouth, though,” Shisui says, not in any sort of control over his brain. He lets Zabuza crowd him back towards the closest wall, gets his hands on Zabuza’s hips and shoves the hem of that stupidly taunting tank top up. Getting his hands on scarred skin feels a little like a revelation, and he opens his mouth, then chokes, Zabuza’s words finally registering fully. “Wait wait wait, you—you're _attracted_ to me? You’ve been thinking about this?”

Zabuza rolls his eyes, which is uncalled for, even when he’s pressing Shisui up against the wall with all those perfectly defined muscles and those _arms_ and that sharp, unfairly attractive smirk. “Come on, I know you must own at least one mirror. And you going toe to toe with Kisame? The two of you took out a fucking city block, and you walked away with barely a scratch. Sweetheart, I've been thinking about you every time I've gotten off for the past _month_.”

Shisui really does whimper, and he’s _hard_, so fucking hard at the image of Zabuza in the shower, stroking his cock with long, lazy pulls. Or maybe Zabuza in bed, stretched out on the sheets Shisui just woke up on, desperate and worked up and trying to draw things out, finally coming with _Shisui's name_ on his lips.

“Oh,” he says, dazed, and in lieu of any coherent plan he shoves a hand down the back of Zabuza’s loose jeans, gets a handful of toned ass as Zabuza makes a low, sharp sound, and drags him up and in. The next kiss is hungrier, filthier, edged with more teeth, and Shisui hauls Zabuza between his legs, bracing his back against the wall, and Zabuza is taller, broader, stronger, but the second Shisui gets his fingers in his hair and pulls, he shudders, moans. Drags his mouth away, dropping his head to kiss Shisui's collarbone instead, and takes a ragged breath.

“I'm going to blow you,” he growls, and Shisui's never heard someone turn the offer of a blowjob into a threat before but he is _way_ too into it. “And then you're going to bend me over the fucking bed and screw me until I can't fucking _walk_.”

“Oh god,” Shisui says, at least a little in awe. He grips Zabuza’s hair as Zabuza slides down his body, trying to get his brain to do more than glitch at that image, all too vivid. “Oh god, you like to take it? Oh my god, my fantasies just got so much more plausible, oh wow, would you let me fuck you with a dildo while I rode your cock? Reverse cowgirl and you with a toy in you? Is that actually a thing that could happen?”

Zabuza makes a low, rough sound, and pauses with his hands on Shisui's fly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Shisui's hip. “Shit,” he mutters, and a shiver runs through him. He spreads his legs a little, the very obvious bulge in his jeans almost painful to look at, and then glances up at Shisui through his lashes as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the fabric of his costume.

“Been thinking about that?” he asks jaggedly, and tugs Shisui's pants down, taking his underwear with them. Shisui would be embarrassed about how hard he is, but Zabuza groans and presses his _face_ right up against his cock, the hot slide of his mouth against the base driving a yelp out of Shisui's throat. He grabs for Zabuza’s hair with both hands, dragging his face closer, then realizes what he’s doing and lets go immediately.

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, but before he can ever start to panic over where else to put his hands, Zabuza catches his wrist and drags his hand right back.

“Don’t be,” he says, and that smirk is as challenging as Shisui has ever seen someone look with their lips pressed to a cock. “Pull all you want. I'm not going to break.”

Shisui's head drops back against the wall with a thump, and he groans. Tugs a little, just to hear the hitch in Zabuza’s breath, to feel it slide out over his cock half a second before the wet drag of Zabuza’s tongue follows. “Oh god,” he breathes. “If you keep doing that I'm _really_ going to pull and it won't be my fault when you end up bald.”

Another careful lick and then Zabuza slides his hands up Shisui's things, tightening his grip. “Shut up,” he says, and then his mouth is on the head of Shisui's cock, sucking lazily, and Shisui whimpers. He tries to thrust forward, but Zabuza’s grip keeps him pinned, easy, bewilderingly hot strength as Zabuza rolls the head of Shisui's cock in his mouth like it’s a piece of candy.

“Oh _god_,” Shisui says, and he’s absolutely certain that he’s not going to survive this. He buries his fingers in Zabuza’s hair, clenches, and Zabuza makes a winded sound like Shisui just kicked him, presses forward. The hard, deliberate press of his tongue down the shaft practically makes Shisui's eyes cross, and he hisses, jerks again, and this time Zabuza doesn’t pull away. He _keeps going_, and Shisui can feel himself slide into Zabuza’s _throat_.

“Oh,” he breathes, almost a whine, and uses his grip on Zabuza’s hair to tug lightly, to pull his head back just enough that he can _see_. Zabuza is just resting there, Shisui buried deep in his throat, and Shisui shivers and groans and presses his fingers against the stretched edge of Zabuza’s mouth, the faint bulge of Shisui's cock in his throat. There’s wetness around his eyes, a faint tremor in his muscles, and Shisui wants to _ruin_ him.

Carefully, watching Zabuza’s face, Shisui rocks back, pushes forward, and Zabuza moans. Takes the thrust easily, grip on Shisui's thighs lifting, and Shisui groans in relief and hauls him in, pushing all the way in and then pulling out in a long, slow slide until just the head of his cock is still on Zabuza’s tongue.

Zabuza’s dark eyes are on him, framed by damp lashes, and his mouth is wet and red and he’s breathing hard, and Shisui doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life.

Lazily, Zabuza drags his tongue over the head of Shisui's cock, sucks on it for a moment, and then draws back to press a kiss beneath the flared crown. “What would it take to convince you to come on my face?” he rasps, and his voice is already hoarse, rough. Shisui isn't going to be able to hear him talk for _days_ and not remember Zabuza swallowing him down, on his knees with a sore red mouth.

“You're trying to _murder me_,” Shisui says, almost awed. “Someone put out a hit on me and this is how you're trying to kill me. I understand now.”

Zabuza laughs, raspy, and rubs his cheek against Shisui's shaft. Shisui watches, spellbound, as precome smears across his skin, and has to swallow hard and dig his fingers into Zabuza’s hair to keep from coming right then.

“Caught,” Zabuza says mockingly, and sits back, thighs spread obscenely. The curve of his cock is huge, obvious, and Shisui stares down at him, breathless with want. Thinks, again, of what Zabuza said he wanted, and moans, because bending Zabuza over the nearest sturdy surface and sliding into the impossible heat of his body is all Shisui never knew he wanted.

“Dastardly,” he gets out, and drops a hand from Zabuza’s hair to grip his sharp chin, the strange, handsome angles of his face something captivating from this angle. “I—you really want that?”

Zabuza snorts. “What, to kill you?” he asks, and when Shisui rolls his eyes, he chuckles. “You to come on my face? Yeah. At some point.” He casts a look up Shisui's body, then pauses, and asks, “Trust me to pick you up?”

Heat light lightning bolts through Shisui's veins, and he groans. “Yes, yes, yes _please _I want that—”

“Leg over my shoulder,” Zabuza orders, and Shisui braces his back against the wall and slings a knee over Zabuza’s shoulder without hesitation. Under his other thigh, Zabuza’s hand tightens, and he lifts with a flex of those stupidly thick biceps. Shisui yelps even though he’s expecting it, grabs for the shelf bolted to the wall above him and hangs on for dear life. Zabuza has an arm under his ass, the other braced on the wall, and his grin is _wolfish_ as he glances up to hold Shisui's wide-eyed stare.

“Hang on,” he says, halfway to a taunt, then gets his mouth on Shisui's cock and swallows him down in one motion.

Shisui screams, doesn’t care to hide it. He bucks up, meeting no resistance, and Zabuza takes the thrust like he was made to suck cock, opens his throat and swallows around Shisui and hitches his hips up like he’s urging him on. Urging him to fuck his throat, and Shisui sobs out a breath and _does_, thrusts in with all the leverage he can get caught between Zabuza and the wall and takes Zabuza’s mouth.

He can feel Zabuza’s wrecked, desperate sounds, the moans as Shisui bottoms out, the vibration that travels up his cock and curls like fire in Shisui's gut. Can feel the strain in his muscles, the effort it takes to support Shisui's weight, the thickness of the arm holding him up and the width of the shoulders under his knees, and it’s _terrifying_ just how much Shisui wants him.

There’s a twisting ach in his gut, in his balls. He slams in, watches Zabuza’s throat stretch, and shouts, shattered, _shaken_. “Zabuza,” he gasps, “Z—Zabuza, I'm—oh god—_please_—”

Zabuza moans, buries Shisui's shaft in his throat, and hauls his hips up off the wall to get him that one inch deeper. Desperate, _greedy_ for it, and Shisui cries out as he comes, hips jerking desperately as his vision whites out. the snap of the release is almost painful, and he gets a hand in Zabuza’s hair again, jerks him closer, whines and twitches as he rides the wave of it. Shudders, head falling back, and can't do anything but breathe in the aftermath as he comes down.

Slowly, carefully, Zabuza pulls off his softening cock, letting it slide past his lips to smear one last trickle of come across his mouth. Deliberately, he licks his lips, then drops Shisui's legs from his shoulders and eases him to the ground. It’s too much effort to do more than sprawl boneless where Zabuza dropped him, so Shisui doesn’t even try, just watches as Zabuza shifts up onto his knees and leans in.

“Good?” he asks, so rough Shisui has to shiver at the sound of it.

Reaching up, Shisui touches the smear of come on Zabuza’s lips, but instead of brushing it off, he rubs it into Zabuza’s skin, drags it across to paint his mouth, and then reaches up, hooking a hand around the back of his neck. Hauls him in, and kisses him fiercely, the taste of Zabuza’s mouth enough to make Shisui's spent cock twitch in interest.

“Why the hell are you so sexy,” he breathes against Zabuza’s mouth.

“Just to torture you,” Zabuza answers, smirking, and that’s too much smugness for a guy who can’t even talk because he just had so much fun deepthroating Shisui's cock. With a sound of indignation, Shisui throws himself forward in an uncoordinated lurch of limbs, bowling Zabuza over. He rolls them, twists, and for all that Zabuza is stronger Shisui is faster; he shoves Zabuza down on his hands and knees, Shisui sprawled over his back to pin him in place, and gets those maddeningly worn jeans open and shoved down his thighs with a few practiced tugs.

“Your turn,” he breathes, feeling Zabuza shudder, and smiles at the wrecked gasp as Shisui closes his hand around Zabuza’s impossibly hard cock.


End file.
